


Trapped

by anivhee



Series: Merlin Summer Pornathon 2013 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Clothing Kink, Heartbreak, Hurt, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shame, Summer Pornathon 2013, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anivhee/pseuds/anivhee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small part of himself wondered why things had to be like this. Arthur wished, for just a second, that the weight on his shoulders wouldn’t be too heavy, that he could do what he pleased and be with the person he’d always wanted instead of shutting down, wearing a different type of armour every day. He couldn’t allow himself this—this stupid thing that made his heart tighten and his shoulders slump. It wasn’t right. It had never been, and he had known it from the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Challenge 5: Canon Era at the ~[2013 Merlin Summer Pornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com)~ buuut I kinda submitted it late, so it didn't get into the voting post D: 
> 
>  
> 
> Million thanks to [eeshbelle](http://eeshbelle.livejournal.com) for the great beta and to [Maria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/andiwould) for pushing me enough to publish this c:

Arthur barely registered the sound of the door slamming behind him, his feet taking him inside his chambers while his mind spun maniacally. He still had the piece of cloth in his hand, gripping it with such force he could feel his nails digging into his skin, the pain angering him even more.

He knew he had no right to get angry, like he had no right to do anything he damned pleased. But then, for a moment, he allowed himself to forget he was King, forget he was _married_ and that he had a duty to his people. For a moment, he dared cross the line he had been eluding for so long—dared to _feel_ the anger, the blinding jealousy, the _pain_. For a moment, he came close to screaming and tearing apart the piece of cloth in his hand. For a moment, that is, because he wasn’t supposed to do this, he _couldn’t_ allow it.

He kicked the wall, though. Felt the shame burning right under his skin, running across his entire body like a disease. This was wrong, his mind kept telling him. Everything was wrong. Arthur, in the first place.

Images of hands roaming over skin, white and brunette, soft noises and dark hair clouded his mind; whispers, giggles, stubble, neck and love bites. His body ached, his eyes watered. When he realized it, he was shaking, the handkerchief still fiercely seized inside his fist. Shame clouded over him in waves, he was a _thief_ now, and a coward, and an idiot.

Why had he grabbed the piece of clothing in the first place? It had looked so obscene, just laying there on top of the other clothes—and the armour, Arthur thought bitterly—and his mind had shut down for a minute. A stupid minute that made him walk slowly, like hunting his prey, and pushed him to look at the scene behind the door.

The surge of emotions he felt at that moment had left him breathless. He didn’t understand, didn’t need to, for he just ran away, taking the piece of clothing Merlin always wore—incidentally, the red one Arthur secretly preferred—getting to his room, to that moment, where he just collapsed on his bed and found himself crying.

A small part of himself wondered why things had to be like this. Arthur wished, for just a second, that the weight on his shoulders wouldn’t be too heavy, that he could do what he pleased and be with the person he’d always wanted instead of shutting down, wearing a different type of armour every day. He couldn’t allow himself this—this stupid thing that made his heart tighten and his shoulders slump. It wasn’t right. It had never been, and he had known it from the start.

He looked at his hand miserably, where he still had that silly piece of garment trapped between his fingers. A distressed sound escaped his lips as he let his fist loosen up and put the handkerchief on his cheek, nuzzling it softly. He sobbed, pathetic thing he was, rubbing it across his face, smelling it and stroking it over his chest. A flash of Merlin’s skin cracked through his head, remembering the way he had ducked his face to the side and exposed his neck. Arthur groaned, pulling down his trousers and stroking himself fiercely. He imagined his own lips on that skin, that beautiful, pale skin, leaving marks as he wished. He imagined Merlin was there, with him, twisting his body in that fascinating way Arthur had glimpsed earlier; hands travelling across his chest, his navel, his thighs… taking him in hand, stroking feverishly, making Arthur wild.

Arthur grunted like an animal, the hand that was holding the handkerchief gripping his cock viciously and rubbing the piece of cloth against it; once, twice, again and again until he was bucking his hips like a heated beast and making noises that didn’t sound human at all.

He closed his eyes and imagined Merlin, bastard dimwit, doing that—taking his own handkerchief and rubbing it across his body, licking him in places he could only afford to imagine in his head and whispering endearments against his skin, things only the two of them would know.

His heart ached again, shame creeping its way across his soul once more. This is wrong, that voice that sounded disturbingly like his father’s said inside his head. You should be ashamed. He _was_ ashamed, biting his lip until it bled, smearing the cloth against his shaft like a lunatic until his back arched and he came all over it, panting and sobbing.

He hated himself. Hated Merlin, hated Camelot and the crown. If only he could be free. But those things were stupid to dwell over, and Arthur knew it. He knew his place was on the throne, regardless of what his heart wanted. Even if it hurt, even if he found himself wishing for things he couldn’t have, about flailing limbs and cheeky smiles, he had a duty, and that was more important than himself.


End file.
